


taking yourselves soriel-sly

by simplycarryon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fill, Soriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplycarryon/pseuds/simplycarryon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You carry a great affection for a short, pun-filled skeleton. Convincing him of that is work, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taking yourselves soriel-sly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imagymnasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/gifts).



> prompt fill! [ba da da DAAAAA treasure get noises] imagymnasia requested soriel of any kind, and here it is!
> 
> I can hear you judging me for the title. you stop that.

You do not think you will ever grow accustomed to the way Sans moves from place to place.

He is a little too quick to assure you that he walks places, just like everyone else. And this is true; you cannot deny that he does indeed walk, especially when you place special emphasis on his trademark way of being exactly where you know he was not merely a moment ago.

He walks with you, specifically, when you bring it up, and he matches your long-legged pace with two steps to every one of yours.

You make him work for it.

It is a little vindictive, perhaps, but seeing him trot breathlessly after you is more amusing in its own right than it probably should be. And you do apologize afterward, with ice cream from a nearby vendor stand, and you shorten your pace so that he does not have to half-run to match your stride.

“See?” he huffs, out of breath. “I walk. S’good exercise, or something. You must be thinking of that one day that I took a shortcut.”

“I do not believe for a moment that there is a shortcut that functions the way you claim,” you reply mildly, taking a bite of ice cream. There is a time and a place for interrogations, and neither of those things is now, but you feel that if you do not press him for answers he will never actually give them to you. “Sans, you are aware that I am quite proficient in magic, yes?”

He raises a nonexistent eyebrow.

“And yet, I have no real understanding of what it is that you do. These shortcuts of yours—if they are magical in origin, perhaps you could show me how they function.”

“I, uh. Look, Tori, there’s—there’s some things a guy’s gotta keep secret, right?” he says, looking more anxious than you think he should for someone discussing spellwork. “Gotta… preserve the mystery and all that.”

“You are not a street magician, Sans,” you remind him with a tiny smile.

“Eh, maybe not. But if I tell you everything now, how’m I supposed to keep you interested in a guy like me?”

“Do you really believe me to be so fickle that I would disappear from your life once you held no mystery?” you ask, and he flushes a brilliant magical blue along the cheekbones, the closest approximation to a blush that a bloodless monster can produce.

“Well, no, of course not—I just thought, uh—“

“Sans, you are terribly interesting, and I am inordinately fond of you,” you admit, as if sharing the time of day. You did not think he could blush any more deeply, but you are proved wrong twice over; his entire face goes a violent blue, and that only makes you smile more. “Your mysteries are a part of you, but they are not what define you, and if you ceased to be so mysterious I would certainly not abandon you for it.”

He looks up at you, almost shyly, in a gesture of awkward hope that you have never seen in him before. It reminds you of someone else, long ago, all good intentions and optimism. 

“So, uh… what does define me, then?” he asks, rooted to the spot.

You do not really have to think about that. You may not know Sans as well as you would like, but he has been a part of your world since that very first day you answered his knock at your door.

“Your love,” you tell him, in all honesty. “I have always known you for your great affection for your brother. Even before we truly knew each other, you would talk about him with such pride. Everything you did was for him, without resentment or frustration. You love him, with all your heart, and that is the Sans I have always known.”

“Huh,” he says, and for a moment, that is all he says. He looks pleased, though, his expression affectionate. “I guess I do talk about Pap a lot.”

“I like it,” you say, idly brushing a tuft of your fur back into place. “It is endearing, to be reminded of how much he means to you. One might even say your feelings for him run—“ you can see his grin widen even before you say it; you both know what is coming, but you continue, because you must, _“—bone-deep.”_

“God, Tori,” he says, elbowing you with the sort of pun-inspired affection that can only be expressed through physical contact, “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Perhaps a little,” you admit with a smile of your own, almost wide enough to be a grin. “But your gift with wordplay is the other thing I know you best for, and I believe it defines you almost as much as your love does. So I would not have it any other way.” 

“Good, ‘cause uh, this is the whole package right here,” he says, pretending to pose for you. “I’m a skele- _pun.”_

You laugh, hiding it behind a hand, and in the quiet lighting you think he looks like he is illuminated by hope and magic, suspended in the moment with you; it is more charming than you had ever thought it would be.

You bend just enough to kiss his cheek.

“I appreciate you, Sans,” you tell him, and he makes a strangled noise. “And I will repeat that as often as it takes for you to understand this. Your secrets are not the reason I continue to ‘hang’ with you. I like you, very much.”

“—Thanks, Tori,” he says, and you pretend not to notice the fact that it takes a moment of fumbling for him to find the words. “I—thanks.”

“But if it makes you feel better,” you continue, straightening again, “I will not press you further for answers on this matter. Your secrets are your own, and I suppose it is not the business of an old lady to be delving into such things.”

He manages to look relieved and guilty at the same time.

“That’s not it, I just—I’m never sure how much I can explain at all,” he says, and after a moment, he offers you his left hand. “But I guess I could try. Wanna take a shortcut home?”

You smile, and you check his hand for whoopee cushions before you accept the offer. Sans grins like you have just told him the best pun in the world, and you blink—and then you are home, stumbling at the suddenness of it all.

You do not understand it any better, but perhaps—just for the moment—understanding can wait.


End file.
